I think I’ve written a couple of times about Reid crying for Ken at night when he’s at the museum at bedtime. Melissa and her kids were eager to finish a book and so we left a bit early last Thursday night. I decided to check with Ken to see if we could stop by. He said that it would be okay. Reid was excited at the prospect and asked quite a few times where we were headed - to hear me say that we were doing to Daddy’s museum, I think.

At the drill hall, there were soldiers pulling on a rope - a tug of war, I thought, and Reid and I hurried to get out of the car to see them. By the time we got there, they’d dropped the rope. Their rope was tied to a truck and so we got to talk about that even though we missed the spectacle. There was a circle of drummers drumming at the front of the building. Reid had me hold her hand and run with her to hear them. We listened a while and then went into the drill hall. Reid made a bee line to Ken’s museum and I opened the door for her and she headed for Ken with confidence. The men that are usually there greeted her warmly. I like to think of a couple of them as sort of honourary uncles.

Reid tried on a soldier’s coat - “I’m a soldier!” she declared proudly - and also a helmet. She looked around a bit, talked about some of the things she always comments on and talked with Ken about a soldier that was dressed in a kilt with spats and a red wool tunic. Ken told her about each piece of the uniform and she nodded as he spoke. When it was time to leave, Reid strutted proudly through the drill hall - this was her daddy’s museum building and she got to come for a visit.

On the way home, Ken asked Reid if she had liked visiting his museum. She squealed in the highest pitched voice that humans can hear, “Yesss!”